


Love Will Leave a Mark

by Black_Banshee



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Banshee/pseuds/Black_Banshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane could pinpoint the exact moment his partner, friend and comrade-in-arms, Lieutenant Abigail Mills, began evading him.</p><p>And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew the reason why: Katrina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Only Hurts If You Let It

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fan fiction so it might be a little rough around the edges. 
> 
> I am obsessed with Sleepy Hollow especially with the characters of Abbie and Ichabod, and cannot wait until season two begins in autumn. 
> 
> It is set after the season one finale where Abbie and Ichabod are successful in their mission to rescue Katrina from purgatory and the following aftermath. 
> 
> The title is taken from the album Release the Panic by RED.

Ichabod Crane could pinpoint the exact moment his partner, friend and comrade-in-arms, Lieutenant Abigail Mills began evading him. 

And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew the reason why: Katrina. 

Ever since the dynamic duo had ventured into purgatory and heroically rescued his wife from her monstrous captor, Moloch, relations between himself and Miss Mills had been irrevocably altered. 

It was to be expected, Ichabod reasoned, having spent almost every waking moment by her side since his resurrection in modern-day Sleepy Hollow some several months ago, but Katrina's arrival had put an end to this. Neither one of them had given voice to what would become of their sudden and intense friendship once Ichabod was reunited with his wife. Both carrying on as if their intimate bond would remain intact and they would go on as before.

***

After a harrowing day of trying to avert the Apocalypse, the lieutenant and he would retire to the old armoury — (the Sleepy Hollow Police Department's archives), which served as their headquarters for devising strategy on banishing the evil that had made Sleepy Hollow its home, and order _takeaway_ food. 

The lieutenant would then proceed to give him an education on twenty-first century mores. Usually these sessions would descend into the lieutenant dissolving into fits of laughter at some inane concept he could not quite grasp. In truth, Ichabod enjoyed chasing the shadows from her eyes and relieving some of the tension that seemed to be their constant companions — even if only for a few long moments. 

Now the lieutenant transported him home immediately after their shift unless Captain Frank Irving required them to work late — depositing him in front of the late Sheriff August Corbin's cabin, which was his home in this new and strange era before hurriedly driving away. Katrina would have a meal prepared in anticipation of his arrival and they would sit and dine like they did when they were newly wed. 

Before the lieutenant and he would idle in her motor vehicle awhile, not really conversing on anything of consequence, just enjoying the other's company. Sometimes, if she wasn't too exhausted she would follow him into the cabin where he would make coffee and they would sit in front of the hearth and confess secrets of days long past. Ichabod sighed; he missed those days more than he cared to admit. 

***

"I bid you good night, Miss Mills," Ichabod said, turning to her as she cut the engine to the motor vehicle. 

The silence stretched uncomfortably between them as if had for the entire journey from the station house to his abode. 

"Night, Crane!" Abbie replied, briefly glancing at him from underneath her long eyelashes before looking away. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning." 

She purposely avoided gazing into his disarmingly blue eyes. Eyes that could see into her very soul, and saw all the things she kept hidden from the world like her father's abandonment, her mother's mental decline, letting her sister, Jenny down, and the pain of Corbin's death. Abbie could easily get lost in those eyes and would happily spend the rest of her days staring into them... if she didn't have an apocalypse to fight. Sometimes she felt like a vessel on a tumultuous sea, and the only thing keeping her afloat is Crane.

Then, as if remembering something, she said: "Say 'hello' to Katrina for me," before lapsing into silence yet again. 

These were the first words she had spoken to him in what felt like hours, so Ichabod latched onto them. "Miss Mills, a word if I may..." he started. 

Abbie sensing he was about to address the elephant in the room, or more aptly the car, cut him off with a "Not now, Crane." 

"If not now," Ichabod stated sharply, the frustration of the past few weeks rising up in him. "When?" 

"Do you really want to have this conversation with your wife a few feet away?" Abbie retorted hotly. 

"Yes... No!" Ichabod stuttered. 

Abbie had never seen Crane so indecisive, but she refused to allow herself to soften. She wasn't the one responsible for the situation they now found themselves in, so if he was having a hard time adjusting it wasn't her problem, it was his.

Even as she thought this, Abbie knew it wasn't entirely true. Crane hadn't forced her into having feelings for him, but his constant presence in her life, lingering looks and brushes against her skin that set her alight wasn't helping. Abbie watched as a host of conflicting emotions played over his face, before seeming to come to a decision.

"Till the morrow," Ichabod murmured before quietly opening and closing the passenger side door and striding to the front door with long, brisk strides. Without a backward glance in Abbie's direction, he entered the cabin and shut the door behind him.

Gathering herself together, Abbie let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, restarted the car and headed home. 

***

Abbie was too worked up to sleep, her argument with Crane replaying on a loop in her head. She was so mad at him that she felt like getting back in her car, storming over there and giving him a piece of her mind.

But, even as the irrational thought left her mind she knew she would not — _no could not_ — do that in a million years. Not only would they have an audience — namely his wife Katrina, but Abbie did not trust herself to be around him in her current wound-up state. 

The ensuing confrontation would either end with her kissing Crane senseless as she'd fantasised about doing from the moment she'd first met him, or pounding his chest repeatedly with her fists. As much as Abbie couldn't bear to be around Crane while Katrina was very much part of his life, she also couldn't fathom the thought of him _not being_ in her life. The very thought almost causing her heart to short-circuit. 

"Damn you, Crane!" She hollered at nothing in particular. _The insufferable man could drive her to distraction without being in the same vicinity as her_ , she thought darkly. 

Abbie did not care to ponder the real cause of her frustration. Instead choosing to file it away in her mental filing cabinet along with other problems she didn't have the energy to deal with like demons and red-headed witches. Grabbing a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the fridge, she resolved to drink her problems into oblivion.

***

Ichabod could only pick at the simple meal of cheese and potato pie Katrina had laid out before him. She was still acquainting herself with modern cuisine so had decided it was best to stick to the basics. His mind kept wandering back to the heated argument he had had with Miss Mills earlier.

He often found he could not rest until matters between them were amicably resolved. However, in this case, the resolution was long overdue. They had been sniping and snapping at each other for weeks now, and Ichabod knew the situation could not continue as it was. She could be just as stubborn as he when she set her mind to something. 

Realising he was being poor company and that Katrina kept casting him worried looks, he flashed her a thin smile. 

"Forgive me, my love, it has been a weary day and I am in need of repose," Ichabod said getting up to place his used eating utensils into the dishwasher. "Thank you for the nutritious meal." 

Planting a chaste kiss atop her forehead, Ichabod bid her goodnight and took his leave from the room. 

Katrina's frown deepened as she watched her husband whom she had given up so much for — their child, her coven, _and_ her freedom — depart. She had waited centuries to be reunited with her Ichabod only for him to fall in love with his fellow Witness. 

She always knew this to be the outcome, yet she still married him knowing he was never hers to begin with. Knowing this didn't lessen the ache in her heart or the pain she would inevitably feel when she and Ichabod parted forever. She didn't resent Miss Mills for replacing her in Ichabod's affections. How could she hate what had been preordained before the dawn of time? She cherished the years they had together, it was after all, what had got her through her time in purgatory and would comfort her in the many lonely years ahead. 

***

Ichabod expected to fall into a restless sleep. Expected to at least toss and turn as he had been doing for the past fortnight... 

_He was ensconced in his bedchamber in the cabin and was naked as the day he was born. He was not alone... Miss Mills was there and was also in a similar state of undress on top of him. He could feel her silken folds tightening around him as she neared her release. Her hips rocked against his and he responded with an even deeper thrust of his own. "Ichabod," she moaned in a throaty whisper, her fingers raking through his hair_.

 _There was something grossly anomalous about the scene, but in his lust-addled state, Ichabod could not make the connection. He was about to call her name — a liberty he did not dare take in her presence — when he suddenly awoke_. 

Ichabod lay abed, for a moment not knowing where he was — the dream had been so vivid that he could still feel Miss Mills's thighs around his own, her voice, her scent and the telltale signs of his own arousal. 

He looked across the bed at Katrina sleeping soundly and felt like the worst type of scoundrel: in bed with his wife but dreaming about another woman. 

Ichabod arose quietly from the bed to avoid waking her and padded out to the living area. He needed to get a hold of himself. Filling a glass from the tap, he swallows his water in one gulp, staring unseeingly out the kitchen window.

He must have stayed that way for a long time. The first streaks of daylight are illuminating the sky before he rejoined Katrina in their chamber.

***

Abbie felt awful as she willed herself to get out of bed and into the shower. It was as if a lead weight was balancing on top of her head; her throat was rough and scratchy and her eyes burned. She didn't need to look into the bathroom mirror to confirm what she knew: she looked terrible. 

Added to that was seeing Crane given the way they'd left things the previous evening, particularly in her current fragile state. Like with most things in her life, she didn't have a choice. Evil wouldn't go into hibernation just because Grace Abigail Mills had the mother of all hangovers _and_ couldn't bear to see her partner knowing fully well he would use the drive to work to bring up the conversation she'd been putting off. 

After a somewhat restorative shower, she padded out to her bedroom, quickly dressing in form-fitting blue jeans, a crimson t-shirt and grabbed her favourite tan leather jacket off the floor where she tossed it the night before. 

Her stomach could not abide anything solid, so she brewed herself some black coffee, taking huge sips and almost scalding her parched throat in the process. Rinsing the mug in the sink, she wiped her hands on a hand towel, snatched up her keys and slammed the door shut behind her. 

Twenty minutes later Abbie pulled up to Corbin's cabin. Everything looked suspiciously normal, and if she closed her eyes for a second she could even pretend this was just like any of the other hundred times she picked up Crane. Except that it wasn't, as the man himself strode over to the passenger side door, instantly putting her on high alert as if she wasn't tense enough.

Barely glancing at her, Crane grounded out a terse 'Good morning, Lieutenant' before buckling up his seat belt and staring straight out the side window.

 _Great _, Abbie thought,_ this day just went from bad to worse_.


	2. Just Close Your Eyes Till It’s Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie was seriously tempted to play Crane at his own game, but someone had to be the bigger person here, and besides if he wanted to act like a petulant child she wasn't about to indulge him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos. This chapter is kind of like Henry Parish's observation on a riddle: I started out with an idea in mind, but in the course of writing I ended up on a completely different tangent. It is slightly longer than the previous so please bear with — hope you enjoy reading it!

"Mhm," she grunted in way of reply.

Abbie supposed she should count her blessings that Crane was ignoring her, but it just meant that working together was going to be dicier than when they trapped the Headless Horseman in a Masonic cell. 

_He's not the only one feeling less than sociable this fine morning_ , Abbie thought angrily. She was more than happy to drive in silence and welcomed the peace and quiet for once, instead of having to listen to Crane's rambling about his latest bugbear of the twenty-first century such as bottled water or the obscene tax levied on baked goods.

Abbie was seriously tempted to play Crane at his own game, but someone had to be the bigger person here, and besides if he wanted to act like a petulant child she wasn't about to indulge him.

She could feel a headache coming on and wished she had the foresight to take some aspirin before leaving. Today was going to be a long and trying day and Crane's crankiness was the last thing she wanted to deal with.

***

Despite her pounding headache, Abbie wanted to see Crane's buttons well and truly pushed. She wanted to ruffle Mr Cool, Calm and Collected's feathers. Crane had the uncanny ability to get under her skin in a way no one else could. That could leave her vulnerable and exposed if she let him. It was a sobering thought (the irony wasn't lost on her in light of her sore head and leathery tongue). She just wanted him to hurt a fraction of what she was feeling.

 _Very mature, Mills._ Abbie mentally chided herself. Here she was taking umbrage at Crane behaving childishly and she was doing the very same thing. 

It was totally unfair how kissable he looked this morning in his usual outfit of tie-front shirt, britches and knee-length military boots while she in comparison felt as rough as a badger's arse. Abbie chuckled out loud at the expression — something she’d heard on BBC America. _Crane would have a field day deciphering that turn of phrase,_ Abbie quipped.

In fact the entire package was causing her stomach to coil in tight knots. How he managed to look insanely hot at such an ungodly hour was as much of a mystery to her as a Vigenère cipher and gongoozling. 

_Concentrate on the road before you, Mills. Not on the fine specimen beside you_ , Abbie admonished herself harshly. _Going down that particular road leads to nothing but misery._

Turning to her, Crane shot her a look that said _care to share the joke:_ she didn't. He let out a hiss of air before resuming his scrutiny of the riveting view out the window.

***

Ichabod was doing his utmost to avoid all physical and verbal contact with the lieutenant, but it was exceedingly difficult when the first thing that hit him as he entered the conveyance was some type of perfumed body vapour that contained a note of jasmine. He always caught a hint of it whenever she occupied or vacated a room, and fancied he could identify her unique scent blindfolded.

It was as if he were being caressed by her — not an unpleasant sensation, but disconcerting nonetheless with last evening's dream uppermost in his mind. Ichabod did not think he could look her in the eye much less conduct an entire conversation due to the impropriety of his nocturnal imaginings.

Ichabod thought back to the painfully quiet affair that was his morning meal with Katrina. The silence only punctuated by the slurp and hiss of food being forked into mouths. Katrina wore a resigned expression on her face only breaking the hush to remind him about the kiss he forgot to give her as he listened out for Abbie's motor vehicle. He had practically leapt from the cabin when he heard the blare of the horn.

***

They were about a mile and a half away from town when the car's engine shuddered to a stop.

"Great, freaking great!" Abbie cursed under her breath. "I so do not need this."

She was _not_ looking forward to spending time cooped up with Crane for the half hour or more it would take for a rescue vehicle to show up. Chances are they would end up killing each other. 

They had two options: they could either walk the rest of the way or call for assistance. But at that moment, the heavens opened up and pelted the car with fat raindrops. _So much for that idea_ , Abbie scoffed, _looks like we're in for a very long and tedious wait._

In between Crane's moodiness, her throbbing head and car troubles it was as if the gods were determined to make this day as dire as possible. And they hadn’t even started on the supernatural nefariousness.

"Why are we stopping?" Ichabod asked sulkily. 

Evil had accelerated its campaign against them, which meant it was imperative they reach the archives immediately. A fallen angel by the name of Ornias (the first demon mentioned in The Testament of Solomon) was strangling young men born under the astrological sign of Aquarius due to their predilection for women whose zodiacal sign is Virgo.

They required Jenny's help to locate King Solomon's ring that contained a seal that would expunge the demon back to the depths of hell.

"Gee, I dunno… I thought maybe it was a brilliant idea for us to spend some quality time by the roadside doing absolutely nothing," Abbie drawled sarcastically.

"There is no need to take that tone with me, Lieutenant. I was merely inquiring as to why we had come to a sudden halt." Ichabod bit out irritably, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously.

"The reason we aren't moving," Abbie snapped "is because the damn engine has stalled, so unless you were an engineer masquerading as a history professor during your tenure at Oxford we aren't going anywhere until a mechanic shows up. Got it?" 

Ichabod opened his mouth to complain, but Abbie cut him off with a murderous glance. Clenching then unclenching his fists, Ichabod swallowed heavily, deferring to the lieutenant as was his habit. 

"As you wish," Ichabod grumbled. 

Whipping out her smartphone from her leather jacket, Abbie speed dialled her repair company giving them their exact location and a rough outline of the problem. Only visibly relaxing when the operator informed her that someone would be with her within the hour.

***

_This is ridiculous,_ Abbie thought. _We're mature adults, for crying out loud! This — whatever_ this _was — has gone on for long enough. The situation is what it is._

 _I always knew the endgame with Crane: he wanted his wife back from the get-go. He'd been upfront about it from the start and now that he has her back, what did I expect? For Crane to ditch his wife and take up with me? As much as it pains me, I have to suck it up and be the friend that stormed into purgatory by his side, fought off Moloch and made our escape with Katrina in tow before he could send his minions after us._

_I really have to get over myself and be there for Crane. Instead of being supportive and happy for him I've been going around as if Katrina stole my boyfriend, which is absurd as the witch is married to him and has more claim to him than I_ ever _— or would_ ever _have. I'm too busy being resentful and picking fights that I haven't stopped to realise that I'm driving him away. We have seven years of tribulations ahead of us, plus I’ll see him every day at work. Okay, we might not spend our evenings and weekends together any more, but I survived before Crane and will continue doing so._

_When did I become this needy, dependent person who can't function without their partner beside them? I'm so, so not that person. It was just that Crane got under my defences and made me open up to him in a way I’d never done with another person, Corbin included. It’s because when I talk to Crane he really listens, his piercing eyes staring straight into my soul and making me feel as if my words are all that mattered. Hell, I was the only thing that mattered._

_But with Katrina back I should have realised that she came first and I second. There is room enough in Crane's heart for the both of us if I accept my place. Katrina will always be upmost in his heart and I will always be the consolation prize. This is the way it is always going to be. I was stupid for thinking it could be different. It’s not as if I didn't know he’s married, yet I still fell for him. Way to go, Mills!_ She berated herself. _Always wanting what I can never have: the perfect family, a fresh start, an easy life. It’s as if I deliberately set myself up to fail. As if, in some inner recess of my mind I know my life is just one big complication after another._

Abbie was suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh. Laughter bubbled up inside her making it difficult to breathe. She tried to stem the flow but it just rushed out in an uncontrollable giggle that racked her tiny body.

Crane looked over at her nonplussed as if she had well and truly lost her mind.

"Pray tell, what is the source of this unmitigated amusement?" Ichabod asked with a raise of his left eyebrow. 

Abbie's laughter was indeed infectious. It had a lyrical quality to it, and like a man in a desert starved of water coming across an oasis he was soon doubling over. It felt so good to hear her laugh and to be with her like this that even though he didn't understand the cause of it — _chances are it is about him_ — he couldn't help but want to share in her mirth. 

The expeditious change was truly perplexing given her bleak countenance and oaths over the defective carriage, but then again the lieutenant was a most baffling creature: going from affable to vexed in the time it took to reload her weaponry. 

Ichabod decided to 'go with the flow' — one of the lieutenant's favourite expressions when he came up against something he did not understand and she did not have the inclination to explain it to him.

***

A casual observer looking in on the scene would have thought them mad: trading barbs one minute then laughing fit to burst the next. But then, this wasn't extraordinary. Miss Mills was the only person of his acquaintance who could make him livid and at the same time deliriously happy.

 _In fact, she is the only person, my wife included that…_ Ichabod mused, deciding not to conclude that particular train of thought. He was already on treacherous ground in his mind as it was where Miss Mills was concerned.

Turning to his comrade, Ichabod basked in her radiant glow. When Miss Mills smiled her entire face lit up as if a light was shining from within. Her warm brown eyes sparkled and her skin shimmered as brightly as any star in the sky. 

_It feels good to go back to the way things were before all of_ this _happened_ , Abbie reflected. In such a short space of time, the man grinning impishly at her had become her entire world and she _his_. It was absurd how they'd let Katrina's release from purgatory come between them and stop them from doing what they do best: just being together. 

They had worked out from almost the start that they were better united. Whenever they were divided bad things always happened such as imminent death (Crane's) or being stuck in the world between worlds (her). 

When they were finally able to regain control of their faculties they looked at each other and exchanged their first genuine smile in weeks. An unspoken agreement passed between them and just like that the heavy tension ebbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ornias (meaning 'pesky') has various abilities attributed to him, such as the gift of prophecy, shape-shifting, and causing physical pain with a mere touch. As a shape-shifter, Ornias can often transform into a man, a lion, or a heavenly creature with wings.
> 
> The demon revealed to King Solomon the existence of the Falling Stars, demons that fly up towards Heaven to overhear God's plans and fall back to Earth when they become too exhausted, making them look like shooting stars to humans.
> 
>  **Reference**  
>  The Testament of Solomon, 2:2-13  
> Demonology: Demon Names: Ornias, hellhorror.com  
> List of Theological Demons, en.wikipedia.org


	3. You’re The Only One Who Brings Out The Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing the pleading look in Abbie's eyes, Jenny relented. If Abbie wanted to be in denial about her feelings for Crane who was she to make her see reason? When the shit hits the fan which it invariably would with those two, she just hoped she would be in a good enough place with her sister to help her through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all the comments and kudos — it is what encourages me to keep going.
> 
> This chapter was a tricky one and has gone through several rewrites. I do hope you like it!

"Glad you both finally decided to show up," Captain Irving said drily as Ichabod and Abbie pulled up to the station house, hurriedly getting out. 

"When I said see you in twenty, I actually meant _today_ ," Irving intoned, levelling them with a cool stare.

"Sir, we had a bit of a—" Abbie interjected, effectively cutting off his tirade. 

Irving waved away her excuse, eyeing them suspiciously and mumbled something under his breath. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded like: "Give me strength!"

"There's been report of another asphyxiation on Beekman Avenue. I need you to go down there and check the crime scene for any supernatural clues forensics may have missed."

"Oh, and your sister is waiting impatiently for you in the archives. She told me to impart these pearls of wisdom if I see you before she did: to 'get your arse in gear' — her words not mine," Irving said clearly irritated.

"When did I become the Mills sisters errand boy?" he demanded tiredly.

Crane quirked an eyebrow inquiringly but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Not wanting to rile her boss any further, Abbie bit her lip. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Crane staring intently at her mouth. She felt her cheeks grow warm under his intense scrutiny and quickly looked away. 

An encounter with Jenny usually left the captain in a foul mood for days and it was the entire sheriff's department that suffered. Abbie could throttle Jenny (an unfortunate choice of words considering what they were currently dealing with) for stirring things up with Irving while a psycho demon was on the loose. They all had to work together whether they liked it or not, and it would be a lot easier if they weren't tearing each other to shreds. She had her own emotional minefield to navigate with Crane and the last thing she needed was Jenny's baggage added to the mix.

Abbie suspected her sister enjoyed baiting him as a way to channel her anger over their failed romance. Jenny and Irving had had a brief flirtation at Christmas before he’d broken it off and reconciled with his estranged wife. Abbie would talk to Jenny about it, but they weren't exactly in the share-your-love-troubles kind of place, and she was the last person to be giving out advice when her love life was in an even bigger mess than Jenny's.

Their relationship although vastly improved was still on shaky ground, regardless they were going to have words before Jenny flew out to God knows where. Abbie operated a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy when it came to her sister's shady operations, the less she knew the better for the sake of her job and in the name of sisterly bonding. They badly needed her help so she couldn't afford to get on the wrong side of Jenny. _Note to self: tread lightly during that conversation._

***

Ichabod stood erect with his hands clasped behind his back silently watching the exchange between the captain and Lieutenant Mills. It was admittedly difficult for him to refrain from his natural loquaciousness but he had learnt from experience that it was prudent to allow the lieutenant to smooth the waters with the captain when he was in an ill temper. The lieutenant would undoubtedly enlighten him of their discourse once they were sequestered in the archives.

He wandered over to the building's entrance admiring its late seventeenth-century architecture. The Sleepy Hollow Police Department was one of the few buildings he recognised that had retained the purpose for which it was originally intended. 

He was wholly engrossed in his ruminations that he practically collided with Detective Luke Morales who was advancing down the steps as if Moloch himself were at his heels, his new partner Detective Lawrence Glover sprinting to match his pace. 

It was common knowledge around the department that Luke barely tolerated Glover — and who could blame him considering the inauspicious circumstances of his former partner and best friend, Detective Devon Jones's death. 

Jones had been brutally murdered while on duty along with a priest two months ago. It certainly didn't help that Luke's memories of _that_ day were hazy, and that his friend's killer was still at large. Luke later found out that the nutcase strangling Aquarian men was responsible. The whack job had drugged him and he'd passed out, which made him a useless material witness in nailing the son of a bitch. Irving had suggested he see a shrink and he'd been taking anti-depressants ever since to help him cope.

Luke had had a lucky escape on account of being a Scorpio, but most days he didn't feel so fortunate. It was pretty hard to be happy when your best mate was rotting in a shallow grave. He'd never paid attention to all that star signs mumbo jumbo, but now he couldn't step out the door without having first checked his horoscope.

He felt such impotent rage whenever he thought back to that day that it was a wonder he hadn't taken a swing at anyone, especially at the dick standing in front of him: Ichabod _Fucking_ Crane. It would give him immense satisfaction to punch his lights out, but he knew it wouldn't go down well with Abbie. He wouldn't have a hope in hell of winning her back if he pulled a stunt like that, but a guy could dream.

"Crane, I didn't see you there — loitering as usual?" Luke questioned, almost snarling.

He didn't trust Crane's intentions towards Abbie, or his smarmy British ways that the female officers lapped up, Abbie especially. She claimed there was nothing going on between the two of them, but everywhere he turned there was Crane all over his woman. She would break his arm before admitting the truth, but he knew. He could tell by the way they acted around each other and the whole fuck-me eyes thing they had going on. Abbie had never looked at him the way she did Crane throughout the six months they'd dated and acted as if the sun shone out of his arsehole. When Abbie and Crane were together, stashed away in their little corner of the world it was as if no one else existed, nothing else mattered apart from the two of them. _He_ and Abbie had been close once upon a time before Crane arrived on the scene and weaselled his way into her affections.

He couldn't shake the feeling — call it intuition — that Crane was somehow connected to all the strange goings-on. Since the history professor had showed up in Sleepy Hollow, the town had got weirder and that was saying something. Luke had been doing his own digging on Crane on the sly after the captain's unspoken warning, but had so far turned up nothing.

"Detective," Crane replied in that snooty way of his. "Always a pleasure. I await the lieutenant to conclude with the captain before we take our leave, _not_ that I am by any means required to explain myself to you," Crane said with a smirk.

But before Luke could think of a comeback, Glover called out across the station's car park.

"Yo, Morales, we're on the clock here."

Luke glowered in Glover's direction before turning back to Crane. With a final menacing glare at his rival he jogged over to the squad car, clambering in beside his partner.

Abbie had just finished with the captain in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. 

"Should I even ask?" she questioned, looking pointedly at the retreating vehicle.

The antagonism between the two men was becoming _very_ annoying. It was like watching two alpha male idiots going out at it — well, one idiot and an impeccably refined Brit, but their drama was another thing on an ever-increasing long list she didn't have the time or energy to deal with.

"I—" Crane stuttered. 

"No, don't answer that," Abbie interrupted. "We'll be here all day and Irving's already riding my arse about showing up late."

Ichabod could not stop himself, it was as if the lieutenant was _actually_ inviting him to stare at her backside. It was not his practice to inspect a lady's bottom, but in _his_ day women did not wear garments that displayed it in all its shapeliness. The lieutenant was wearing a particularly formfitting pair of jeans that drew the eye and enticed the senses. He had it on good authority — _his own_ — that it was soft, but firm, rather like the lieutenant herself. His hands twitched in a restless movement, longing to dig his fingers into the curve of her hips and grind himself against her until he found sweet relief. 

_I have most assuredly succumbed to insanity if I am entertaining such an abominable act in broad daylight,_ Ichabod berated himself. _Clearly I learnt not a jot from my morning contemplations!_ To distract himself from these unseemly thoughts, he diverted his energies to his strong dislike for the lieutenant's former beau. Thankfully, his errant mind cleared a scant moment later.

"Crane, what are you thinking?" Abbie asked as they made their way across the street.

Ichabod blushed furiously, he despised telling falsehoods but it was preferable to the truth in this instance. He knew with absolute certainty that the lieutenant would implement her threat at their inaugural meeting 'to shoot him' if she discovered the true nature of his cerebrations.

Hastily concocting a story, he blurted out…

"That the captain should desist from squinting so, I read on your _Internet_ that it ages the face prematurely."

Abbie glanced up at him, confused by his statement and the flush that tinged his cheeks a hot shade of pink, but they had bigger fish to fry than Crane's delicate eighteenth-century sensibilities.

She rolled her eyes. "About the body, finding Solomon's ring... Focus, Crane."

"Of course, my apologies, Lieutenant," Ichabod uttered contritely.

"I recall reading a fascinating book entitled _Ancient Sacred Texts, Myths and Studies_ some time ago. I think it could be key to narrowing down the ring's last known location."

"Uh-huh, and I'll search online for a copy of _The Testament of Solomon_ ," Abbie said briskly. "We can split Corbin's case files between us for anything that could be of use and cross reference it with any findings."

***

"What time do you call this?" Jenny smirked as Abbie and Ichabod ambled in, taking their usual places at their desks. "If I had known you guys were going to play hooky I would have stopped by later."

Ichabod glanced up from the age-old tome he was reading. "Is that a type of game?" he asked, curiosity creasing his brow.

"It's when you skip—" Jenny began to explain before Abbie cut in.

Abbie was getting tired of Jenny's insinuations about her and Crane, especially when she had the nerve to do it in front of him. _What if she forgot herself one day and did the same thing while Katrina was there? The witch would think she was trying to put the moves on her husband._

It had to end before Crane caught on to what she was hinting at. She suspected he had an inkling, but not being from the twenty-first century he didn't know the half of it.

"Jenny, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Abbie asked her sister politely.

At Ichabod's look of concern she mouthed: "Irving" while Jenny's back was turned. 

They were so in sync with each other that Abbie didn't need to elaborate. Ichabod nodded briefly before his attention was absorbed anew by the book he'd been perusing.

"Can't it keep?" Jenny argued. "I was under the impression that we needed to find the ring yesterday — to paraphrase the good captain." 

"That's right," Abbie agreed, "but this will only take a minute — it's important."

Jenny huffed, "If you insist."

"I do," Abbie replied evenly.

"Then lead the way," Jenny muttered as she followed Abbie out into the tunnels.

***

"You have to quit with the teasing," Abbie began without pausing for breath.

"I don't know what you mean," Jenny hedged, feigning ignorance.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Abbie said exasperated, a slight edge creeping into her voice. 

"About me and Crane," she clarified.

"I thought you weren't a _thing?_ " Jenny sneered.

"We're not. You know _very_ well we're not," Abbie responded. It was as if she was being deliberately obtuse. 

"It's disrespectful to Crane, Katrina, _and_ to me to imply otherwise," Abbie fumed. _So much for going easy on her._

"Yes ma'am, anything else while we're at it?" Jenny asked sarcastically.

Abbie drew in a deep calming breath.

"Crane and I are just friends. We are Witnesses and partners, nothing more." In a softer tone she added, "our relationship might not be conventional but nothing about this end-of-days business is exactly straightforward."

Seeing the pleading look in Abbie's eyes, Jenny relented. While their relationship was far from perfect, she liked having Abbie in her life again and didn't want to do anything that might ruin it. If Abbie wanted to be in denial about her feelings for Crane who was she to make her see reason? When the shit hits the fan which it invariably would with those two, she just hoped she would be in a good enough place with her sister to help her through it.

"All right, I'll drop it," Jenny acquiesced.

Abbie flashed her a grateful smile.

Seeing how defensive Jenny had got about the thorny subject of her relationship with Crane, she decided to change tact in broaching the subject of Irving.

"Can you please go easy on my boss? His stress levels are already through the roof without you giving him a hard time, too," Abbie said half-jokingly.

Jenny looked at her for a long time before speaking.

"Has Frankie been telling porkies?"

"Jenny!" Abbie scolded, "you know he hates when you call him that."

Jenny grinned. "That's because I'm the only one who can get away with it," she replied smugly. "A girl has to get her kicks where she can find them." 

Abbie harrumphed. "He just happened to mention something in passing." 

"Okay, mummy, I'll play nicely with the captain," Jenny laughed. "Now if we're done dealing with your man drama can we get back to work — my flight leaves in three hours and I still have to pack."

Abbie swatted her lightly on the shoulder, but let the comment go. She had to pick her battles with Jenny wisely.

"You pack?" Abbie teased. "I thought you just threw some things into a duffel bag."

"Let's just say I need to pick up some supplies and leave it at that," Jenny said mysteriously.

Abbie just shook her head and sighed. 

Linking arms, the sisters walked back to the archives in companionable silence. Their earlier argument all but forgotten.


	4. It Was Only A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod frowns when a gentleman he is not familiar with puts his arm around Miss Mills's waist in an overfamiliar manner. He waits for her to scold the man or angrily remove his arm: she does not. His heart clenches painfully in his breast as realisation dawns... she has recommenced courting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to say too much as I don't want to give any spoilers away. It starts off slow, but builds in momentum once the action gets underway. Thanks again for commenting, kudo-ing and reading!

Today is Crane's birthday and Abbie is throwing him a small, but intimate surprise party at the cabin. He isn't exactly enamoured with surprises but she reckons he can make an exception for his day of birth. 

She wasn't sure how birthdays were celebrated in the eighteenth century but whether Crane wants one or not he's getting a twenty-first-century-style party: cake, presents, party decorations, the works. 

Jenny has been tasked with babysitting duties and keeping him occupied while she and Katrina set up for the party, and Irving is picking up the cake as a favour to her for sending Ornias back to hell a week earlier. They'd trapped and sealed the demon with King Solomon's ring that Jenny had tracked down in Siberia of all places before he could strangle a local schoolteacher whose girlfriend is a Virgo. 

Abbie had got Crane a first edition of _The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling_ she'd found in a rare books store when she'd been on a non-supernatural related case. There had been a burglary at the jeweller's next door and she'd wandered in on the off chance she'd find the perfect gift. Crane had told her it was a favourite of his from his boyhood and was one of the first books his father had ever given him, so it was very dear to his heart. He had been deeply saddened to have parted with the book during his voyage to America.

Abbie isn't the sentimental type but she hopes her simple message conveys to Crane exactly what he means to her.

>   
>  _Dear Ichabod,_
> 
> _I didn't realise how incomplete my life was until I met you. You're the other half that makes me whole and I'm grateful for every day spent by your side._
> 
> _Respectfully yours, Abbie_

She couldn't wait to see his face when she gave it to him and wanted to wait for a private moment when it was just the two of them, maybe they'd walk out to the lake when there was a lull in the festivities.

Abbie realises somewhat belatedly as she steps into the cabin that this is the first time she's been inside since the day they rescued Katrina from purgatory, which brings on a wave of bittersweet memories. She determinedly forces them down not wanting to think about Corbin's death or her relationship with Crane BK (before Katrina). 

Katrina had certainly put her stamp on the place — there were curtains, throws, cushions and rugs she didn't recognise and it smelt homely and feminine. Devoid of the woodsy, manly scent that was wholly Crane. 

Abbie and Jenny had prepared most of the food the night before and Katrina contributed a few dishes she couldn't identify, (probably some eighteenth-century thing) that the witch had assured her were Crane's favourites. She hadn't said anything to the contrary not wanting to appear as if she knew him better.

They worked in awkward silence, putting up banners, bunting, streamers, fairy lights and balloons. Abbie honestly doesn't know what to say to the other woman apart from: 'can you pass the sticky tape' and 'that goes over there.' The only thing they have in common is Crane and _that_ subject is strictly off limits.

She also appreciates the irony of her current predicament: this is the second time she's been alone with the woman whose husband she's possibly in love with. It can't get any more messed up than that, but Crane is her best friend and she's doing this for him she reminds herself as the tension in the cabin becomes downright uncomfortable.

After a while, Katrina excuses herself to change whilst Abbie makes the finishing touches. Once she's satisfied that everything is in order, she goes to get ready in the bathroom before the first party guests turn up.

***

Ichabod flinches as the cabin erupts in a noise similar to that of an explosion. Inexplicable objects are blown and popped in terrifyingly close propinquity to his visage, and he is ambushed from every direction by unknown assailants whose shouts of 'Surprise!' assault his senses and amplify the deafening sounds reverberating around the room. For one horrifying moment he thinks they are under siege.

 _This must be what the fox experiences when flushed from its hiding place,_ Ichabod muses. He moves to retreat, but Miss Jenny motions him forward.

His eyes immediately seek out the one person whose presence will render this occasion tolerable: Miss Mills. She is standing to his left with a warm smile on her beautiful face and in the soft light she is exquisite. He forgets how to breathe, his feet moving unconsciously towards her.

She is attired in a tight black dress that skims her knees and highlights the swell of her bosom, her shapely legs, the dip of her back, the curve of her delectable hips and her narrow waist. Her hair is swept enticingly over one slender shoulder in loose curls that frame her lovely face, and she is made up in face paint more pronounced than he has ever seen her wear, which illuminate her eyes and make her full lips appear infinitely softer. He fleetingly wonders what joy he would encounter if he were to feel those sumptuous lips beneath his and tangle his fingers through her luscious hair.

Ichabod approaches her but is intercepted by Katrina who clasps him about the waist and kisses him on the cheek, whispering 'happy birthday, my love' against his ear and he recollects. He should be thinking about his wife _not_ Miss Mills and her fetching attire. He allows Katrina to steer him to the centre of the room where he greets guests, but his eyes betray him and return to Miss Mills who is sharing laughter with a couple of officers he recognises from the station.

He has not spoken to her all day aside from a brief telephone conversation in the morning to wish him 'happy birthday.' He had requested the pleasure of her company for breakfast at the diner but she had declined on account of having to perform the _actual_ policing duties she is receiving currency for. He was immeasurably hurt by her refusal to share a birthday meal with him, but accepted her rebuff graciously. 

Ichabod frowns when a gentleman he is not familiar with puts his arm around Miss Mills's waist in an overfamiliar manner. He waits for her to scold the man or angrily remove his arm: she does not. His heart clenches painfully in his breast as realisation dawns... she has recommenced courting.

Something ugly and unnameable flits through his mind, and he swallows the bile that rises in his throat. He is well versed in twenty-first century courtship practices and its advocacy of premarital relations. For reasons he does not wish to examine, the thought of Miss Mills with another man makes him decidedly uncomfortable. As her friend and confidant, not to mention the innumerable roles they played in each other's lives, it would be remiss of him to regret to inform her of the unworthiness of her suitor. Ichabod considers himself to be adept at taking a man's measure, which is why he knows with all manner of certainty that the man is undeserving of Miss Mills's heart.

Commandeering a glass from a nearby side table, Ichabod pours a generous amount of rum into the glass and downs his drink in one swallow. Two more glassfuls follow in quick succession. Unbeknownst to him, Katrina watches him regard Miss Mills and her heart splinters. She knows the time is coming when Ichabod must choose his true path in _this_ life, but the knowledge brings her little comfort only more heartache.

Abbie can feel Crane's eyes on her from across the room, and to be honest she knows his eyes haven't left her since he walked into the cabin. He looks handsome as always dressed in his usual ensemble. His hair hangs loosely around his face just the way she likes it and for a second she thinks he did it for her, but then she remembers that he didn't know about the party so it's hardly likely unless Jenny put him up to it.

She wants to prise her date's fingers off her waist but she doesn't want Crane to get the wrong idea or the right one, she isn't entirely sure what idea she wants to give him. She knows it was a mistake bringing Mark here. She just wanted one night where she didn't have to think about her feelings for her partner, but how can she do that when every time she glances up it's to lock eyes with Crane, and the looks he shoots her leave her feeling warm all over. It's not as if she can take a night off from her witnessing duties; she'd tried to put some distance between them but that was impracticable when they have the world to save.

Extricating herself from her date on the pretext of getting more ice, Abbie saunters over to Crane and asks him to walk with her outside. He gives her an indeterminate look before obliging her.

***

"Do I get a birthday kiss?" Crane asks Abbie in a playful tone of voice, but the look in his eyes tells her he's serious.

He trails a long finger down her exposed back, and she shivers involuntarily.

"Are you cold, Miss Mills? Here take my coat," he says, swiftly divesting himself of the article and wrapping it tightly around her body. 

Crane's hands are on her shoulders and she can feel his body heat seeping through the thick layer of wool.

She closes her eyes for a minute, and breathes in his scent. Glancing up, her eyes connect with Crane who is watching her intensely.

Abbie thinks he must be inebriated because at any other time he wouldn't allow his hands to linger like this, but his speech is lucid as it carries on the cool lakeside breeze. 

He's looking at her like he wants to devour her mouth and Abbie is certain that this must be a dream because Crane is usually so proper, taking pains to not overstep the bounds of their friendship.

The breath is knocked out of her lungs as she stares into his piercing blue eyes. Now Abbie trembles for a different reason. 

"What about that kiss?" Crane repeats softly, his face mere inches from hers. 

This moment has been building between them for weeks, months, _the first time they met..._

She's as helpless to stop this as her wildly beating heart or the traitorous butterflies in her stomach. She wants to push him away, but at the look in his eyes the words die on her tongue. 

Crane places his soft lips firmly on hers in a kiss that is anything but chaste.

She lets out a stifled moan as he twirls his fingers in the downy hairs on the nape of her neck.

His coat falls to the grass and Abbie allows him a moment before pulling away.

They stand facing each other, breathing deeply.

She is vaguely aware that she's still in the circle of Crane's arms and that he is yet to break contact.

He's about to speak, to break the spell cast around them when they hear footsteps behind them.

"It's time to cut the cake!" Jenny shouts from the other side of the lake.

"We're coming!" Abbie calls out before turning in the direction of her sister's voice.

"Abbie—" Crane starts. He reaches out for her arm, but she slides her body away and warbles over to Jenny as fast as her high heels can carry her. 

She can't look at him, not wanting to see the guilt on her face reflected back at her. She couldn't bear for him to hate her or himself. Later she will convince herself that it was all very innocent, but right now all she can think about is the pressure of Crane's lips on hers and the sensation of his fingers in her hair.

Abbie feels like a scarlet woman. How can she go in there and paint a smile on her face after what she's done? _After what they've done._ She feels physically sick as she watches Katrina emerge from the kitchen with Crane's cake lit with the candles she bought.

"Here's the man of the hour!" Irving announces, indicating the man hovering over her shoulder. 

She stiffens as Crane brushes against her as he enters the cabin. She's just about to turn in the opposite direction when Wendy spies her wavering in the doorway and drags her over to Crane.

She snatches one of the champagne glasses being passed around to toast Crane and drains the entire glass. Not thinking or caring what she's doing she grabs Mark and kisses him. He is available, Crane is not, and by the way her date eagerly kisses her back she can tell he's interested.

Mark is surprised by Abbie's forwardness as he didn't think she was into him. At first he couldn't work out why she'd agreed to this date, but seeing the way the birthday guy kept staring at her and she him, it all made sense.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she says, pulling him from his thoughts.

Mark doesn't need to be asked twice. He knows she's vulnerable and upset and a real gentleman wouldn't take advantage, but Abbie is beautiful, smart and funny and he wants to help her forget the man she longs to be with.

"Okay," he replies, "but I'm driving."

Abbie nods her consent and slips silently into his car.

***

Ichabod observes Miss Mills's departure with her _date_ and his heart plummets. She is clearly distressed and will undoubtedly pursue intimacies with the man. He cannot allow her to compromise her honour because of his short-sightedness.

He locates Miss Jenny in a huddle of people near the hearth and implores her to ferry him to Miss Mills's abode. She argues that her sister is 'a big girl' and 'can look after herself,' but his resolve holds firm.

"Okay, okay!" Jenny concedes, throwing her hands up in resignation, "but on two conditions: you tell me why she's so upset — although I can pretty much guess why, but I want to hear the whole sordid story from the horse's mouth, and two I pick the radio station we listen to."

"There is nothing _sordid_ about it," Ichabod says in a tight voice, turning red. His concern for Miss Mills overriding his desire for a history on the origins of that delightful phrase.

"Uh-uh! Try saying that with a straight face and without resembling a tomato," Jenny retorts.

Ichabod opens his mouth to protest, but cannot find the words to refute Miss Jenny's statement. He looks away, abashed.

Miss Jenny is reversing her motor vehicle on the dirt path drive that leads up to the cabin when he suddenly remembers the party _and_ his wife. He dashes back inside and manoeuvres Katrina into their bedchamber.

"Miss Mills has taken ill and I fear it is only proper that I offer my assistance," Ichabod declares, looking his wife squarely in the eye.

Katrina looks at him for a long time seeing everything her husband refuses to accept.

"Cannot Miss Jenny go?" Katrina questions. "I'm positive she is capable of attending to her sister's needs... but it must be you and only you, my husband. Go — I will explain the situation to our guests and extend your apologies."

Ichabod kisses her lightly on the cheek and whispers his thanks, and then he is gone.

The journey to Miss Mills's house is a morose affair, Ichabod is immersed in thought and Miss Jenny understanding his need for peace and quiet forwent the radio. After what seems like eons to him they arrive at her residence. He disembarks whilst the motor vehicle is still moving, her welfare taking precedence over his own safety.

"Crane!" Jenny exclaims stopping his advancement, "make sure you keep your cool. I know my sister and you're probably the last person she wants to talk to."

"I must speak with her," he protests heatedly.

"I know, that's why I agreed to drive you here and the reason I'm not stopping you, but she's my sister and I don't want her any more upset than she already is. It doesn't take a genius to work out that something happened between the two of you tonight and has been happening for some time now, but Crane you're _married_ and I don't see that changing any time soon. So for her sake maybe you should just come back in the morning or wait until you see her at work. Besides, she might not be up for visitors if she's..." Jenny trails off raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"I take it you mean amorously engaged with the gentleman she departed with. Regardless I have to speak to her _this_ evening," he insists.

"All right! But if Abbie calls me in tears I know where you live," she threatens.

"Thank you for your understanding, Miss Jenny," Ichabod responds as she drives away and he runs the few feet to Miss Mills's front door. He eschews the doorbell in favour of the knocker, pounding furiously on the door.

"I'm coming!" Abbie huffs from the other side, "no need to break the door down."

Throwing it open, she starts as the last person she expects to see is standing on her doorstep with a haunted look in his eyes.

"Crane, what are you doing here? How did you get here? You're supposed to be at your party!" Abbie demands.

Ichabod answers her question with one of his own, "may I come in?" 

She nods, and steps back to allow him entry. 

It is only then that he takes in her appearance. She is wearing a thin camisole that reveals the outline of her breasts and shorts that display even more of her shapely legs than the slip of a dress she had worn to his party that had given him heart palpitations. Ichabod swallows hard, a cold, clammy sweat gathering on the back of his neck. His eyes rest momentarily on her limbs before snapping back up to her eyes, which are the most heartbreaking of all. She looks as if she has been weeping for quite some time before his arrival and briefly wonders if her gentleman has hurt her in some way, but looking around the dark room, he can see no signs of the other man.

"Crane, why are you here?" Abbie croaks.

He longs to take her in his arms and soothe away all her pain, but that would be utter folly given her state of undress, their combined emotion states and the troubling fact that he is uncertain if he will be able to bring himself to let her go. 

No woman has ever held him in her thrall like Miss Mills. Every facet of her being astounds and fascinates him, and she is unlike any woman of his acquaintance or time. He had pledged his Katrina undying devotion and loyalty but here he is harbouring affection for a woman that is not his wife.

Katrina and Miss Mills — darling, sweet Miss Mills deserve better than him. Miss Mills deserves a man whose heart is free to love her and his wife deserves a husband who loves her above all others.

"You left abruptly I wanted to ensure your health," he says, clearing his throat nervously.

"I had a headache and needed to lie down," Abbie lies unconvincingly. She knows Crane can see straight through her lie, but he's too much of a gentleman to call her out on it.

"You did not stay for cake, which I assure you was truly magnificent," he says nonchalantly.

"That's great," she replies dully, "but you didn't leave your party to discuss my taste in cakes now, did you?"

"I came to talk about the kiss," he answers honestly.

Abbie widens her warm brown eyes. "You mean the friendly peck between friends," she dismisses.

"We both know it means more than that," Ichabod says quietly.

Abbie turns her back to him, edging even further against the wall.

"Abbie..." Ichabod says softly. He comes up behind her and places his hands on her slight shoulders. She's convinced he's been at the spirits again given the liberal use of her first name.

"Crane, please don't touch me," she implores him. "I can't do this... I can't think with you so near. You need to go home to your wife and leave me alone... I'll be all right, I always am," she says forlornly. 

"I cannot in good faith leave you in this state," Ichabod counters.

"You can and you must for both our sakes, before we say or do anything that we can't take back. We're not those people, _I'm_ not that person," Abbie says as Ichabod turns her to face him. 

Silent tears course down her cheeks, and her doe-like eyes seem larger than ever in her face. Miss Mills rarely cries; the only time he has witnessed her weeping was at her mentor's funeral and when he attempted to end his life. Unable to restrain himself, he rubs his thumb across her cheek halting the flow of a solitary tear, which causes tears to fill her eyes anew.

He gently hauls her against him until her tears subside, rubbing slow, gentle circles on her back. Her head presses against his chest and he rests his atop hers. She is warmth personified and as ashamed as he is to admit this, it feels right holding her like this. 

_God help me,_ he thinks. _Whether Moloch claims my soul in the tribulations ahead, the devil already owns my soul!_

"I'm okay now," Abbie murmurs, breaking the embrace. This time he lets her go. He feels bereft as if he has suffered a great loss.

"I should go home," he says to the back of her head, "only my transport has left."

"And my car's at your place," Abbie remembers, inwardly chiding herself for stupidly abandoning her vehicle and hitching a ride with Mark for a one-night stand that didn't happen. She'd come to her senses halfway to her home and pulled the fake headache routine. Mark had accepted her excuse without question, dropping her off and telling her to call him for a do-over date any time.

If tonight taught her anything, it was that she had no business involving anyone in her train wreck of a love life until she figured out what she was going to do about Crane.

"Never mind, I'll call you a cab."

"Right," Ichabod says, but Miss Mills remains inert.


	5. Misery Loves My Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie walks into the archives with growing trepidation, not knowing what to expect after yesterday. Would they carry on with their usual ease, or will things have fundamentally altered between them now that she had intimate knowledge of his lips? Crane had sent her a text message early in the morning saying he'd make his own way to work because he had something to take care of. She'd wondered if telling Katrina about the kiss was the _thing_ he had to deal with, but is sure she would have spontaneously combusted if he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My sincerest apologies for the long wait between updates. Editing this chapter proved more troublesome than the actual writing. I am still committed to completing this fic and have already started working on the next chapter. :)

"I got you something," Abbie smiles bashfully, heading into her bedroom to retrieve his present from out of her bag.

"You did not need to get me a gift, Miss Mills. I owe you a debt of gratitude which I fear I can never repay," Ichabod responds to her retreating form.

"Well, it's customary in this century to receive gifts on your birthday," she says, returning with a rectangle-shaped package in her hand. It is delicately wrapped in silver wrapping paper and tied with red ribbon in a perfect double bow. She holds it out to him and he takes it, their hands lightly touching in the exchange.

"I did wonder about the small pile of garishly-packaged items on the cabin's table," he replies thoughtfully, carefully unwrapping the gift.

She watches his reaction as he unveils the novel and glances down at her in delight, a tender smile lighting up his entire face.

Overcome by emotion, Ichabod finds himself unable to express his appreciation for her kind gesture and takes a moment to compose himself. His mind drifts back to that long-ago conversation in the archives, which seems like several lifetimes ago.

"Thank you," he whispers, wiping the moisture that has gathered in his eyes. "I cannot adequately impart how touched I am by your token of affection for me, but know this: I will treasure your gift as I do our bond."

Abbie flushes under his admiring gaze. Trust Crane to wax poetical when a simple _thank you_ would suffice.

Leafing through the book, Ichabod marvels at its near pristine condition despite its age. His smile turns into a grin when he discovers her inscription.

"Miss Mills," he drawls, "you often complain about your inability to bandy a pretty phrase about, but these words are as fine as any poets of my day."

Abbie looks up into the intensity of his gaze and all but melts into a puddle at his feet. She lets out an unsteady breath, leaning into him slightly. Then seeming to collect herself she pulls away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"I'll just call that cab for you," she says, stepping back to put some distance between them.

Ichabod blanches, his face flooding with colour.

She inwardly cringes, belatedly realising how curt she must have sounded. Like she wants to get rid of him. Only she does, but not for the reason he thinks. "Sorry that was rude, I..." she begins, her voice tailing off.

"No apology necessary, Miss Mills," he interrupts. "I have intruded upon your hospitality long enough. However, I must decline your kind offer in favour of fresh air and exercise."

"Crane, the cabin is like six miles from here, plus it's late. Do I have to remind you what happened the last time you went off on your own?"

Ichabod purses his lips, bristling slightly at the memory of being sedated and captured by his Mason brothers. "I _hardly_ see how I am to blame for their misguided intentions," he scoffs.

Knowing that this is an argument she'll unlikely win, Abbie gives in. "Call me the minute you arrive," she says, unable to hide the anxiety in her voice.

"I will be careful, I promise. You need not worry yourself over me," he appeases her, bowing deeply.

Abbie follows him to the door and holds it open for him. Their eyes meet and lock, silently communicating all the unspoken thoughts between them.

"Thanks for stopping by to see if I was okay," she murmurs softly.

"I am much obliged, Miss Mills. It is I who thank you for the birthday celebration."

"Don't mention it, that's what witnessing partners are for," she quips drily, attempting levity to discharge some of the tension that had suddenly built up.

Ichabod chuckles good-humouredly. "I suspect that is not what the bible had in mind when our fates were entwined, but I do appreciate the sentiment."

Abbie watches as he fades into the night, then gently shuts the door. She leans against it, half hoping, half dreading he'll come back.

***

Katrina deposits the last of the party detritus into a large bin bag, tying the ends together when Ichabod comes in through the front door. She can sense her husband's inner turmoil as plainly as if it were written across his countenance. Her Ichabod had always been an open book to her; his guileless nature did not permit he keep secrets. Yet her witchery had meant she could not be as transparent.

Turning calmly to face him, she fights the tempest that threats to engulf her.

"How is Miss Mills?" she asks concernedly.

"She is quite well," he answers distractedly. "She had the headache, which the marvels of modern medicine can treat with but a pill."

Straightening, she patiently awaits Ichabod to inform her of what ails him.

"Perhaps we should sit?" he suggests, gesturing towards the settee. He waits whilst she seats herself, then finds his own place next to her.

"Forgive me, my love, but there is no delicate way to say this... I... I kissed Miss Mills." He swallows thickly and continues. "I accept full responsibility for this deplorable action, and I might add that she neither sought nor encouraged my attentions — I acted of my own volition. I only ask that you find it within your gentle soul to pardon me, and if you shall choose to bestow your mercy, for which I am not worthy, I will endeavour to once again be the man that you wed," he finishes, hanging his head in contrition.

Katrina wills her visage to remain expressionless and buries her trembling hands amongst the folds of her long skirt. Unshed tears burn at the back of her eyes, yet outwardly she appears unperturbed. She had envisioned this conversation unendingly during her years in purgatory and spell on earth, but the pain still overwhelms her.

Realising that his wife has not uttered a word throughout his entire confession, he looks into her eyes expecting to see anger and recrimination, but all he can perceive is love and understanding.

"Katrina?" he beseeches.

"Ichabod, I do not wish for you to torment yourself over your affection for Miss Mills. Just as it was prophesied that you would be called to bear witness, your union with Miss Mills was also foretold."

"No, Katrina, this cannot be," he interjects weakly.

Suddenly, he had seen the way of things on the walk to the cabin. His entire purpose upon awakening had been freeing his wife, and he'd allowed his regard for Miss Mills to distract him from rebuilding the future they had planned before fate had cruelly intervened and pulled them apart. He had neglected Katrina most shockingly, and worst of all, confused his witnessing bond with romantic interest.

It stood to reason that he would feel a natural affinity with Miss Mills that went beyond mere friendship — she having fought by his side as bravely and as capably as any soldier in his regiment during the war — and together they had seen and defeated all manner of dark spirits. She was his guide in this curious world he had been transplanted to, his link to a present he did not understand, and had been a substitute of sorts in the absence of his wife. He was relieved he had drawn this conclusion before he made a grave mistake similar to the one he had perpetrated this past evening.

The unbidden image of his lips pressed against Miss Mills's flashes through his mind and his heart speeds up. He squeezes his eyes closed as memories flood his brain. He tries to picture Katrina during intimate moments and almost succeeds... but then he recalls Miss Mills's eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her and the erotic sound she made at the back of her throat... _The unexpected blessings of an eidetic memory, indeed,_ he thinks sourly.

Taking his large hand in her small, dainty one, Katrina's grey eyes bore into his. "The time has come for you to choose your destiny and whom you wish to forge it with: Miss Mills or I," she says solemnly.

"That is not a choice I can make," he prevaricates, his arms flailing wildly. "We were joined together by God for as long as we both shall live, and to uncouple would make a mockery of the vows we swore to each other."

"Ichabod, you need time to accept the path which has been set out before you. I will give you as much time as you need and trust you make the right decision."

"Katrina, let us desist from all this nonsensical talk. You are my wife and my rightful place is by your side. I pray you speak no more of this," he says in consternation.

Taking his proffered hand, she allows him to lead her to their bedchamber, resolving to cherish these moments for however long they have left.

***

Abbie awakes Sunday morning to insistent knocking on her front door. Rolling onto her side to view the time, she squints at the digital display on the alarm clock. It read 8:32 am. Groaning loudly she throws a pillow over her head to block out the annoying sound and burrows deeper under the covers, hoping whoever it is will take the hint and go away.

She'd barely slept a wink after Crane left, and had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep around three o'clock, filled with dreams of a flaming-haired witch chasing her down on a broomstick.

Then the ridiculous notion that it could be Crane enters her head has her lunging from the bed. She makes her way to the door, only stopping to pat her hair down in the hallway mirror and rub the sleep from her eyes. Looking through the peephole, she makes out Jenny, impatiently shuffling from one foot to the other.

Forcing a smile upon her face, she lets Jenny in before she wakes the entire street up.

"Jenny!" Abbie says brightly, infusing a false cheerfulness into her voice that she doesn't feel.

"Spill!" Jenny commands, shoving a Starbucks coffee into her hands.

"And good morning to you, too," she mutters sarcastically.

"Is it?" Jenny queries, examining her face closely. For what, Abbie doesn't know and is in no mood to find out. Her sister was like a bloodhound when she picked up a whiff of scandal. She knew she had to throw her some choice morsels of information, or she wouldn't let it go.

"There's nothing to tell," she says evenly, taking careful sips of her coffee. "Crane checked up on me, we talked, he left. That's all."

Jenny fixes her with an incredulous stare. Abbie glares right back at her, refusing to back down.

"That doesn't explain why you left the party without saying goodbye, and why he was acting as if you were some damsel in need of rescuing," Jenny quizzes her.

"I had a headache and didn't want to cause a fuss, so Mark took me home," she shoots back. "Crane was probably just scandalised that I left unchaperoned with a man."

Jenny gives her a tiny eyebrow-raise, clearly indicating that she isn't convinced. "More like going out of his mind, which makes me think a whole lot of _something_ went on that you're not telling me."

Irritated Abbie snaps. "Jenny!" she says sharply, "please just leave it alone. I had a rough night, and you interrogating me isn't helping. So pending an apocalyptic crisis I'm going back to bed, and I'm not waking up short of all four horsemen trampling through town."

"Fine!" Jenny says angrily, "I'll come back when you're in a better mood." She flounces out of the door, slamming it behind her with a resounding _thud._

Abbie winces. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Jenny, but she wasn't ready to admit they'd kissed. If she didn't acknowledge it, it didn't happen... except it did. She hadn't kissed him back, but she hadn't pushed him away either. She had, to her chagrin, been a willing participant. She was kind of terrified of what her sister might think of her, especially after the whole Irving thing, and was disgusted with herself for being so weak. She'd call to apologise once they'd both had time to cool off, but right now all she wanted to do was fall into the oblivion of sleep.

Retracing her steps back to her bedroom, she sinks gratefully onto the mattress.

***

Abbie walks into the archives with growing trepidation, not knowing what to expect after yesterday. Would they carry on with their usual ease, or will things have fundamentally altered between them now that she had intimate knowledge of his lips? Crane had sent her a text message early in the morning saying he'd make his own way to work because he had something to take care of. She'd wondered if telling Katrina about the kiss was the _thing_ he had to deal with, but is sure she would have spontaneously combusted if he had.

"U-um, hi," she stammers.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." She knew by his clipped tones that something _had_ changed, but in a very bad way. "No time for pleasantries, we have much work to accomplish," he says stiffly, scouring Washington's Bible for hidden messages encoded within the pages.

She narrows her eyes at him, her thin smile disappearing. "I'll just be in this corner if you need me." If he heard her, he gave no indication, not even lifting his head.

Well, that was unexpected. She'd expected him to be embarrassed, regretful even, but never distant and cold. His aloof demeanour hurt more than she could admit, but she would be damned if she showed him how much it pained her.

It was nearing midday when Ichabod looked up from his reading, setting his dear General's Bible down on the desk in front of him. He could no longer forestall raising the issue that had plagued his mind all morning.

He side-eyes Miss Mills's profile, hunched as it were over her _lap-top_ , and pretends not to notice the way her thick mane of hair falls in silky waves across her shoulders. Venturing towards her, he stops a few feet shy of her desk.

"Miss Mills, may I command a moment of your time?"

Abbie looks up from the screen to see Crane approaching her warily. He positions himself so that her desk acts as a barrier between them. In that moment, she accepts, agonisingly, the reality of the situation. There was nothing that could be said or done to change what happened. They would have to go on from there. There could be no going back.

"Shoot," she says, injecting a breezy note into her voice.

Ichabod quirks his eyebrow at the figurative use of the word, but makes no comment.

"It is about the, um, osculation," he begins hesitantly, deliberately avoiding meeting her gaze.

"What about it?" she sighs, a nervous sensation fluttering through her. Did they really have to do this here? but she knew from experience Crane would persist until she heard him out. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she glances at him from beneath lowered lashes. 

He draws a fortifying breath, pressing ahead. "I do most humbly apologise for my improper conduct. I behaved quite unforgivably. It was most out of character and a momentary loss of sanity that will not be repeated."

A disbelieving laugh escapes from Abbie's mouth. He was apologising. To _her._ For _kissing_ her. And the only reason he'd done it in the first place was because he'd temporarily lost his mind. She doesn't know whether to feel angry, insulted, or both.

Ichabod tilts his chin to regard her. "Is there something you wish to add, Lieutenant?" he says tartly.

Abbie looks at the ground, her stomach feeling tight. There really wasn't anything left to say after that pronouncement. 

"No," she manages to get out past the lump forming in her throat. "It was a mistake... that won't happen again. I think it's best if we just forget the whole thing. No harm done," she says mechanically.

He inclines his head and opens the Bible to a bookmarked page to resume his research.

"Irving asked me to drop by his office before he heads to the city," she blurts, standing abruptly as her field of vision blurs. Without waiting for his reply she stalks quickly out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is, as always, appreciated.


	6. There's No Going Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utterly baffled by his behaviour, Ichabod slowly clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. The fault, he knew, was entirely his own: he should _not_ have kissed her. But she had been too lovely for words; and so entranced he acted without thought, heedless of the consequences. He had gone far beyond the bounds of acceptable behaviour and allowed propriety fall to the wayside whilst his baser instincts ruled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry — again — for the lengthy wait between updates. 
> 
> Thanks Blackhoney, Nubia and dancingflowerbee for reminding me that leaving a fic incomplete is like buying a book with the last few pages missing.

Abbie lets out a shaky breath, fighting for control. She sits with her knees hugged to her chest on the cold tile floor. Folding a piece of toilet paper in half, she dabs carefully at the few remaining tears in her eyes that had come thick and fast only moments before. Gingerly she gets to her feet, her face breaking into a grimace as pins and needles shoot up her calves.

Nearly ten minutes had passed since she ran for the ladies like the emotional wreck she isn't, and barricaded herself in an empty stall. Crane will be wondering as to her whereabouts but right now she can't muster the energy to care. _Let him stew,_ she thinks bitterly.

What was it about Ichabod Crane that had her crying twice in the last couple of days? Since meeting the man, she'd spilt more tears over him than throughout her entire adolescence. Truth was he affected her, and she is only now realising just how deeply.

Sorely tempted to hole up on her sofa watching Netflix and eating her own body weight in popcorn, Abbie considers blowing off the rest of her shift but refuses to give in to that weakness. Bailing out of work isn't her thing, and she certainly wasn't about to start just because her partner was being a total arse. No, she'll go back in there with her head held high and show Crane that the kiss was already a distant memory. Swept away into the deep recesses of her mind, never to see the light of day. Squished down so tight that it would require an entire excavation team to dig it out. One she'll repress the hell out of if push comes to shove.

Feeling more like herself again, her anger finally kicks in. The delayed reaction, no doubt, a result of fight or flight. As the minutes tick by, she grows even angrier. _How dare he talk to me as if I don't matter? As if my emotions are his to toy with. He kissed_ me _not the other way around,_ she fumes inwardly. _Argh, the barefaced cheek of him to plead insanity when he'd been perfectly sane when he was using his careless charm on her._ In a way, he actually did her a favour, she grudgingly admits, giving her the push to move on with her life and put this stupid attraction behind her.

Unlocking the door, she trudges over to the sinks, letting the cold water tap run. Then, sticking her fingers under the tap, she gently pats cold water underneath her swollen eyes. Finding it blissfully empty, she supposes, she should be thankful that hardly anyone uses the facilities in the armoury. The last thing she needs is for Wendy or some other well-meaning colleague to see her in such a state. Worse, she decides is having to explain the reason for her total meltdown at work. She certainly doesn't need the extra talk, and it isn't as if she and Crane aren't already station gossip and on the receiving end of many a pointed look.

Glancing at herself in the mirror to see how badly she looks, Abbie gasps when she does. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. Mascara runs in black streaks down her face, and her cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears. _Ugh,_ she groans. _Get a hold of yourself,_ she tells her reflection. Hopefully Crane will be too preoccupied to notice she'd been crying. Not that he would care, or even look at her for that matter, so at least she's safe on that score. Still, she can't face him yet, so she might as well own the lie and see if Irving has any need for her across the street.

***

Ichabod paces back and forth, moving from one end of the archives to the other. Furious with himself, he sincerely regrets his lamentable apology and ill-chosen words. Try as he may, he cannot push the lieutenant's pained expression from his mind, nor can he concentrate on his reading. It was with great difficulty that he had ignored the quiet fall of her tears and the dejected slump to her shoulders. Seeing the hurt in her eyes made him feel an absolute heel, so much so that he wanted nothing more than to soothe and console her, but thought it would not be wise considering what happened the last time he held her.

_I am espoused. No matter—_

Cancelling the thought before it can sprout roots and damn him further, he muses that it cannot be any other way. It was wayward thoughts of this nature that led him to where he stood now: at odds with his fellow Witness and at a loss as to how to repair the strain between them.

There was no pardoning his ungentlemanly behaviour. Not only had he been unforgivably rude and unspeakably arrogant, he was outrageously condescending to boot. It was little wonder she had fled from him. Dropping his head into his hands, he feels a stab of conscience at his uncustomary breach of good manners, but had to leave her no doubt that what took place would ever be repeated.

Utterly baffled by his behaviour, he slowly clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. The fault, he knew, was entirely his own: he should _not_ have kissed her. But she had been too lovely for words; and so entranced he acted without thought, heedless of the consequences. He had gone far beyond the bounds of acceptable behaviour and allowed propriety fall to the wayside whilst his baser instincts ruled.

 _God's wounds!_ he curses softly. _Have I become so debased, so morally deficient that I can no longer discern right from wrong? Has living in this time clouded my sight to such a degree that I assumed the transient affections and fleeting passions of its denizens? Have I become so inured to the modern era that unconsciously I adopted its profligacy? Is fidelity now repugnant to my very soul?_

Consulting the timepiece on the wall, he notes the lieutenant has been gone overlong. He is all too aware that she did not have an appointment with the captain, her falsehood having been borne out of self-preservation. With the passage of time, he is quite sure they would put this misunderstanding behind them. The question is: how to begin rebuilding broken fences? This was a serious breach between the two of them, but surely it is surmountable?

 _I will fix matters between myself and the lieutenant, even if I have to go down on my knees and beg,_ he promises himself.

Realising that continuing to dwell on the subject would accomplish little, he closes the Bible with a snap, causing dust motes to fly into the air. Pinching the bridge of his nose to better ease his tension, Ichabod decides a dose of fresh air is in order and whilst he is out of doors procuring the lieutenant's favoured meal of _cheeseburger_ and _French fried potatoes_ from the eating house with the Scottish nomenclature.

As he crosses the threshold, he near collides with the lieutenant coming in through the open door. He swerves sharply to the left to avoid an altercation, striking the heel of a booted foot against a bookshelf for his pains. Drawing back from her, he suppresses the urge to take her into his arms.

"Are you all right?' queries Ichabod, the words slipping unchecked past his lips. 

She gives him a cool look. "Yes, I'm just _great,"_ she says with an edge to her voice.

"Very well," he simply says after a moment's hesitation.

Turning away, he walks quickly in the direction from which she had come.

***

Jenny quickens her step as the talisman she'd 'acquired' from a Kikuyu tribesman digs into her side. It will leave a painful bruise but she's in too much of a hurry to slow down and change its position. _Should have brought a bag,_ she thinks ruefully. Had she happened to look up at that moment she would have seen Irving bearing down on her. However, instead she slams into him, causing the object to dislodge and jab into her hip bone. 

"Ow," she cries out, her voice muffled against his chest, unwittingly breathing in his masculine scent. Frustrated, she bites down on her bottom lip at the familiarity of it all.

"Well, if it isn't Jennifer Mills. And to what do we owe the pleasure of your delightful company?" he mocks, smoothing out his suit jacket.

"Frankie," she hisses, taking umbrage at his playful tone. After all, they weren't exactly friends. Theirs was a very combative relationship underpinned by mutual respect and admiration, with a few errant sparks (remnants of the time when they did the horizontal hustle) thrown in for good measure.

Pushing off of him, she gives him a look that could curdle milk. She'd mostly managed to avoid him at the party, only exchanging a few brief words when they'd ended up in the same circle of people. Now just like then, she doesn't want to be stuck making awkward conversation with him.

"I would have thought it would take a lot more than a knock on the head to ruffle the great Jenny Mills?" he can't help but tease.

She glares at him through eyes that are two narrow slits, regaining her composure.

"Maybe if you weren't all skin and bone it wouldn't have hurt as much," she retorts, absently rubbing her head.

Irving's deep-throated chuckle is his only reply.

She _so_ did not have time for Irving's BS. Outside of trying to stop the Apocalypse they don't really have much to talk about. Ever the professional she sucked it up and got shit done, but that doesn't mean she wants to talk to the man insomuch that it isn't related to stopping Moloch and his army of evil. With this thought in mind, she tries to sidestep him but he obnoxiously blocks her path.

Annoyed, she shoots him a questioning look.

"Something's gone down between your sister and Crane," Irving explains, stepping to the side to allow her move past him. "You might want to remind them that saving the world takes priority over whatever petty squabble they've got going on."

Jenny inwardly rolls her eyes. "Tell me something I don't know," she mutters under her breath.

 _What is it this time?_ she thinks to herself. _Katrina finally twigged the blatant attraction between Crane and Abbie._ The two of them were so deep in denial that it could take a near-death experience — a grim reality in their line of work — for them to admit their feelings to themselves and to each other. Abbie had her complete support, but she will not stand for being her sister's punchbag until they got their shit together. After their row, she decided to stop meddling and let fate work its magic. If their bond were truly preordained everything would eventually work itself out. When Abbie had called full of apologies Jenny had accepted her sorry without a fight, whereas in the past she would have made her suffer, and taken pleasure in doing so.

"Whether we like it or not," Jenny says, coming out of her reverie, "we're all stuck together fighting this shit for the next six years. Our fates were sealed the day tall, dark and British crawled out of his makeshift grave and into our lives."

Frank tries not to squirm under the directness of her gaze knowing full well that she was talking about not only Crane and Mills, but him as well. If circumstances had been different things might have worked out for them, but he'd let his family down once before and he wouldn't let it happen again. After Macey's possession he swore he'd do anything humanly possible to protect his girls. And that was a promise he intended to keep for as long as he still drew breath.

"How prop—" he begins, but Jenny is already ducking into the archives, narrow hips swaying in time to her don't-mess-with-me footfalls. Groaning in resignation, he makes his way out of the building and back to his office. Far, far away from her challenging eyes and knowing smirk. It's only then that he is finally able to slow his thudding heart and gain control of his breathing. Shaking his head, Frank considers he just might have a problem. Granted it wouldn't bring about the End of Days, but it certainly had the capacity to shorten his life expectancy, and his days were already numbered thanks to him being a disciple and all.

***

Abbie pulls her mobile phone from her back jean pocket. Scrolling through her contacts, she dials Mark's number before she loses her nerve again.

"Hey, Mark. It's Abbie... Yeah, I'm real good. I was just calling to see if you wanted to hang out Thursday night. I've got tickets to the home team's baseball game and was wondering if you're free?"

After the monumental disaster that was their first date he might not want to see her again. He'd said to call any time, but he could have just been being polite. Before she would have taken Crane but they didn't do that sort of thing any more, and the only physical activity Jenny is interested in are gunfights and hand-to-hand combat.

"Sure," Mark says into the phone after thinking about it for all of a second.

Baseball wasn't really his game. He was more of a football man, but he could get into it, if it meant spending time with Abbie away from a certain _distraction._ And yeah, he was kind of hoping she was over said _distraction_ and ready to give him a chance.

They talk a while longer arranging when and where to meet before hanging up.

Exhaling noisily, a small smile lifts the corners of her mouth. _Finally,_ she thinks, _a bright spot to end an otherwise trying day._

Looking up, she spies Jenny out of the corner of her eye, hurriedly making her way over. Obviously, she'd heard some, if not all of her phone call with Mark. Her hackles immediately rising, she bites back the smart remark on the tip of her tongue. She's a grown woman for crying out loud, if she wants to go out on a date it's nobody's business but her own.

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she gears herself up for the lecture that's sure to follow. To her complete and utter surprise, Jenny simply pulls out a funny-looking object and plops it unceremoniously on the desk.

Rough-hewn, knobbly all over and primitive in design, it resembles a prehistoric hunting tool. Almost afraid to touch it lest it rubs off onto her palms, Abbie gingerly grips one end, holding it up to the light.

Always on the hunt for any weapon that could turn the tide of the war in their favour, Jenny's knowledge and expertise is a godsend.

"You're welcome," Jenny says complacently.

"What on earth is that?" Abbie asks. She's seen her fair share of weird and wonderful objects, but this, by far is the most usual to date.

"It's an Anura talisman. Said to be a cadejo's own personal kryptonite," Jenny states matter-of-fact.

Abbie sniffs. "So what does this wonder charm actually do?"

"I'd hoped to say this once, but since Crane isn't here..." Jenny begins, looking round for her sister's out-of-time partner as if he were hiding in the secret entryway to the archives waiting for just the right moment to jump out and surprise them "...you'll have to fill him in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Ichabbie interaction in this chapter, but in the next they find themselves a little too close for comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, suggestions and reviews are all welcome. 
> 
> I might add to this in dribs and drabs as the story comes to me.


End file.
